


Kitchen Table Diplomacy - A (Very Fluffy) Proximity Story

by Dollypegs



Series: Proximity Stories [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dollypegs/pseuds/Dollypegs
Summary: While Anathema labors to pop out the next little Descendent, our heroes bravely wade the waters of potential baby names.  A story so fluffy, you daren't open a window while you're reading for fear of a draft...
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Aziraphaple (Good Omens)
Series: Proximity Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960981
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	Kitchen Table Diplomacy - A (Very Fluffy) Proximity Story

The phone rang at Gray Wing Cottage at two am.

Crowley groaned, turned over and stuffed the pillow over his head.

Aziraphale, who had been awake, reading by the light of himself, reached over his sprawled husband and picked up his phone.

“Hello?Is that you, Anathema?Is it time? …Of course we will.”

A muffled voice from under the pillow mimicked, “Of course we will.”

“We’ll be there shortly, dear girl. …Pardon?Yes, I will make sure he is wearing his trousers this time.”

Aziraphale rang-off and lightly smacked Crowley’s flank.

“Up and at them, my dear.”

“Seriously?What’s wrong with babies that they can’t all be born at 3 o’clock on a Sunday afternoon?”

“You would still be asleep.”

A knock at the bedroom door.

“Come in,” said Aziraphale.

The door opened, and a comically sleepy Warlock stood blinking into the room.

“Whazat Ana?Baby coming?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, attempting to drag a twenty-foot Burmese python from the bed.“And, much as you might wish to experience the miracle of birth…”

“Er, yeah.I’m going back to bed.”

“Sensible choice.I, on the other hand, am attempting to move an immovable object.”

Which abruptly vanished.

Aziraphale jolted an awkward step back.

They heard the Bentley’s horn out front.

“Really, my dear.”

As if they needed R.P. Tyler to write them yet another thinly veiled scolding via the Tadfield Evening Courier.

Crowley clipped each one and pasted it into an actual blue velvet, Victorian scrapbook labeled ‘Memories’.

The car door slammed.

“Oi!Angel!What’s keepin’ ya?”

Aziraphale miracled himself dressed and presentable, then cocked an eyebrow at Warlock’s smug grin.

“Gloating does not become a gentleman,” he offered.

“You do it.”

“I am not a gentleman.I am a gentleman-shaped ethereal being.”

They drove through deserted streets.October was waning as the moon waxed ever-larger.

“Don’t see why Book Girl would want us anywhere near her newborn.Doesn’t she remember what happened the last time I delivered a baby?”

“This time, we are only dealing with one set of parents, in Anathema’s and Newton’s own home. Not a satanic nun in sight.”

“Just a normal, everyday sort of delivery, attended by an angel and a demon?”

“That’s one more than was in attendance at the birth of You-Know-Who.”

“Voldemort?

“No!”

“You were at the stable?”

“I get on well with most animals, though that donkey was determined to eat the hem of my robe.”

“Then you’d have a sort’ve mini robe.Wouldn’t’ve minded seeing that.D’you think-“

“Just drive the car, Crowley.”

They pulled up outside a neat, two-story, house, not far down the road from the home of Adam and his parents.It was a crisp, clear night, bracing, but not bitter.

“No ice fog?No Carmina Burana?” Crowley mused as he got out of the car.He came around the other side to open Aziraphale’s door.“What kind of horror movie is this?What are we even doing here, angel?”

“Sitting with Newton downstairs until the contractions are close enough that he’s summoned upstairs to help her.”

Crowley grinned.

“Couldn’t get Shadwell to do it, could they.”

“I suspect,” said Aziraphale, “that when it comes to giving birth, the good sergeant’s motto is ‘a father’s place is in the pub’.”

“So, what’s Newt doing, sitting downstairs like a maiden aunt while his wife's laboring?He’s not meant to be there the whole time?All moderny and coom bye yah?”

“Ana said he talked so much at the birthing classes that the instructor made him go out.He upset the rest of the parents.She does have a perfectly marvelous midwife, and one of those doula persons.”

“Doula?Oh, yeah, labor cheerleader, birth room bouncer.No wonder they had to move to a bigger place before Ana popped.It’s standing room only up there as it is.”

Newt let them in.He was not rosy cheeked at the best of times, but now he was the color of margarine, and even Crowley was tempted to ask if he was all right.

“Hi,” said Newt.“Cocoa or vodka?”

“How about vodka and we talk about cocoa?” Crowley asked.

“Cocoa sounds lovely, Newton, thank you.”

The kitchen, in addition to being spacious and modern, was one floor down and on the other side of the house from the birthing room/nursery.Crowley found himself listening carefully for at least a whimper, but the walls were either warded, or very thick, or both.

“I’m trying to come up with names,” said the young man as he put on the kettle, which Aziraphale promptly took off.

“You want to put water in that first, dear boy.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I’m a little distracted.”

Aziraphale guided him to the kitchen table and sat him down.

“Relax, I have this,” said Aziraphale.

“Great cocoa maker, him,” Crowley assured Newt.“So, what are your thoughts on names?Are we going with Mergatroyd or Aloyisius?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard either of those names.”

“And I’m sure Crowley has plenty more where those come from,” said Aziraphale. He eyed the empty kettle, then put it aside and miracled a pan of hot milk and good chocolate onto the hob.

“I s’ppose you want something literary, angel?Pip?Ebenezer?”

“Bah.Humbug,” said Aziraphale.

Newt gestured to the thick pile of notebook paper in the middle of the table, right next to the Wicked Witch salt and pepper shakers.

“She rejected Newton Pulsifer IV right out of the gate,” said Newt.

“How’d you take it?” Crowley asked.

“With relief.This way, I can tell Mum it was on the table.It was only there for three seconds, but she doesn’t need to know that.”

Aziraphale put a steaming mug in front of Newt, who grasped it almost desperately.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten a decent meal, Newton?”

“Um, it’s more like, how long since I’ve been able to keep anything down.”

“Oh, dear.I hope the cocoa isn’t too rich for you.”

“No, right now liquids are fine,” said Newton.“To tell the truth, a cup of hot cocoa’s more like a security blanket.”

“Have you considered the name Linus?” Aziraphale suggested.

Newton cocked his head at the angel.

“I would have thought you’d go for something more Biblical.”

Aziraphale sat and considered.

"The Bible does contain many beautiful names with varied spellings.I’ve always been partial to Jonathan, myself, but then you have names like Methuselah.Ezekiel.Hezekiah.”

“Can’t see Ana wanting a Biblical name,” said Crowley.

“Neither of us is ready for another Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer.We could go with safe, modern names.Trade names like Archer, Hunter, and Parker."

Crowley made a face.

"Those're great if you really like them, but if you don’t, it’s like a default setting. Might as well name the little shit 'Accountant', 'r 'Cheesemonger'."

"And why would you cut corners when you’re naming your child?” Newt agreed.

“Here, here,” said Aziraphale, and toasted Newt with his cup.

Newt turned to Crowley, who waved him off.

“Don’t look at me, unless you want it named Mephistopheles, or Faust.”

“You didn’t name yourself either of those,” Newt pointed out.

“I was trying to fit in.Hard to do sneaky stuff in the modern world without a full name.‘Sides, I don’t really have a middle name.The ‘J’ just sounded good in the middle there.”

“Ana says our son has to have a middle name, or how will he know he’s in really big trouble?Your ‘J’ could be spelled out: J-a-y, you know.”

“Does have a certain cachet,” said Crowley.He turned to Aziraphale, who sighed.

“As long as you don’t require me to address you as Anthony Jay Crowley at all times, I have no objections.”

"Then, how will I know I’m in trouble?”He grinned.“Trick question.I’m always in trouble.”

They sat in silence for a while.The kitchen clock grew relentlessly louder.

“What about Freddie?” Crowley asked as he frowned into his cup.A faint whiff of amaretto rolled across the table.

“Freddie?” Newt considered.

“Good friend o' mine,” said Crowley.“Stand up fella.Looked great in a skirt.”

“Freddie Device-Pulsifer," Newton tried out. "I’ve heard a lot worse.”

The doula, a solid woman in blue scrubs and a messy bun of red hair, swept down and herded Newt up the stairs.He skipped the first step, tripped, and took the rest on his hands and knees.

“Poor bastard’s scared to death,” said Crowley.“Angel, can’t you give ‘im a blessing or something?”

“I have, dear.If I hadn’t, he’d have been out for the duration hours ago.”

“I don’t suppose, we could go home now?Come back when the kid’s here, popped into his nappies, and onesie, and all cute?”

Aziraphale raised a brow.

“Didn’t think so,” said Crowley.“Wonder if the new couch is comfy.”

Somewhere just before dawn, Crowley shuffled back into the kitchen.Aziraphale looked up from browsing through the cupboard and beamed full force at the ceiling.

“Ah, there you are.Perfect.”

Crowley put his glasses back on.

“You trying to light up Tadfield on your own, angel?Kiddo born?”

“Yes.He’s lovely.A beautiful soul.His mother is exhausted, but in perfect health.His father…”Aziraphale’s face bounced into horror.He reached up and snapped, and heaved a sigh of relief.“That’s a boy.”

“What?”

“The midwife asked if Newt wanted to cut the umbilical cord.He wobbled as though he would pass out.”

“Not enough room for him to fall down up there.”

“Ooo, Petite Ecolier dark chockie biscuits! Must be Newt's 'stash'."

“Right, let’s have ‘em, then.”

“You want one?”

“Feel like I need to keep up my strength.”

Aziraphale delicately dipped his biscuit into his tea.Crowley ate the chocolate off his first.

“There’s always the tried and true names,” said Crowley.“Nicodemus.Bela.”

“Doubtless with a mobile of bats over the crib and a stuffed werewolf to cuddle.”

“At least they aren’t boring names.”

“They’re likely to get the child bullied at school.”

“Nope.No one’s bullying my nephsprog.”

“Pugilistic training for preschoolers.”

“Better’n that.Wish I’d thought of it when the hellspawn was bitin’ ankles.Bigger the bastard who messes with him, the bigger the shock they’ll get.”

“A glamor that appears like Hastur with a beehive hairstyle?”

“Different shock.Electrical kind.”

Aziraphale tapped his fingers against the side of his cup.One two three four.

“Have you discussed it with the child’s parents?”

“No!Why?S’no point.”

“No point- Crowley!It’s unwise to enforce discipline via electroshock therapy.”

Crowley huffed out an exasperated breath.

"You'll feel different when some football-hooligan-in-training flattens little Bram into a tuppence.”

“I’m sure Agnes Nutter’s great, great and so on granddaughter will know perfectly well how to protect her child.”

“Mm.See yer point.Kid’ll just turn ‘em into toads.Brilliant!Like it!”

Three days later, the baby was still ‘the baby’, as far as Aziraphale and Crowley knew.

They were invited to a blessing ceremony.No one had mentioned a christening, except the local Anglican minister who came to pay a courtesy visit to that nice young couple who just moved into the lane. He left ten minutes later with a basketful of baked goods and no clear memory of what had happened between arrival and departure.

Aziraphale got to hold the baby once.Crowley was a stealth baby hog.

“And?” Crowley asked the new parents with raised brows.

They looked like a pair of insomniacs, even though the doula had stuck around to help them for the week.

“And what?” Anathema asked. 

“Your madre, and Newt’s mum, will descend on you Wednesday week like the Grandma tag team from heck.My nephsprog needs a name.”

“A useful name or an official name?” Anathema teased as Aziraphale handed her a cup of tea.

“Any name!”

“Rafael de los Angeles Device y Pulsifer.Also known as Buddy.”

“Rafael?”

“What’s wrong with Rafael?”

"And who's 'Buddy'?"

"My dad's nickname," said Newt. "Mine was Skippy. So, lesser of two evils there."

Crowley grumbled and looked around for his temporarily misplaced glass of scotch, which Newt found and handed him.

"Right, raise your glasses high, you lot. To Rafael and the rest of it.Skol!”


End file.
